


Pucks and Princesses

by eminy_g



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hockey, I've got the Stanley Cup on my brain, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:04:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eminy_g/pseuds/eminy_g
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is hockey royalty. Her father, Jake, is a former New York Rangers goaltender. Her mother, Abby, is a surgeon and the only daughter of the owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins.</p><p>Bellamy is going to be a hockey star. He is a forward that is projected to go high in the first round of the NHL draft. Clarke played hockey until her dad died. Bellamy plays hockey because his mom died. </p><p>They don't get along.</p><p>So basically I love hockey and I wanted to write a fanfic involving it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clarke

Clarke Griffin was sixteen when she met Bellamy Blake. The hockey extraordinaire. The center who was projected to go high in the first round of the NHL draft. He was seventeen counting down the days until he turned eighteen.

She was hockey royalty. Her father, Jake, was a former New York Rangers goaltender. Her mother, Abby, was a surgeon. She was also the only daughter of the owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins. 

Clarke’s parents met in the most cliché way possible. Abby was doing her residency at a hospital in Chicago when Jake came in with bad concussion after an accidental collision with a Blackhawk player. It really was just a bad accident, but that didn’t stop the inconsolable Ranger fans for blaming the Blackhawks when Jake wasn’t able to return to the ice that season. Jake was dismayed at the end of his season coming three months early. However, he was quite easily consoled by the news he would stay in Chicago for treatment.

You see, when he had woken, he took look at Abby and asked if he was in heaven. Because surely she must be an angel. I told you it was cliché. Abby was not impressed. Remember her father owned the Penguins? So Abby was used to the meaningless flirting of hockey players, which she thought she escaped by being a nobody doctor-in-training in Chicago. But she couldn’t fight the smiles that crept onto her face whenever he would tell her one of his goofy stories. The silly, sweet goaltender snuck into her heart, and they were married not two summers later. The wedding was full of a conglomerate of hockey players and coaches and friends from all across the league. It was beautiful. 

The next April, Jake had to miss one of the playoff games. Abby was in labor. They had a beautiful baby daughter. In tribute to Abby’s maiden name, Clarkson, they named their blonde beauty Clarke. 

Clarke was a bright toddler who looked extremely adorable eating Fruit Loops out of the Stanley Cup a few summers later. Jake and the Rangers won the cup in ’94. Clarke was the sweetheart of the team. Because she was fearless. She was skating the same day she learned to walk. She loved hockey. It was her life. 

She was seven when Jake retired. By that point, Clarke played on her own local pee-wee team in Connecticut. She was a star forward. Jake took over as a stay-at-home dad as Abby went back to work full-time and she took on a surgical residency (she had pushed it off when she had Clarke). But stay-at-home was enough for Jake with Clarke in school. So he bought the local rink. He ran that. 

They were happy.  
Oh and there was Wells. Clarke’s best friend. The son of Jake’s childhood best friend, Thelonious. He had played college hockey with Jake, but never went pro. He was involved in local politics nowadays. Clarke and Wells played hockey together; they were an unstoppable duo on the ice and off. Wells was an only child. His mom died from cancer when he was little. 

Clarke met Bellamy when she was sixteen. But the year she turned sixteen was also the year her Dad died. 

 

Jake Griffin’s death made all the headlines. Local and National. Not only had a Hockey star died tragically young, but he died in a gruesome way. 

Jake was driving Clarke and Wells home from a tournament in Rhode Island. They were fighting over the radio. Clarke was texting her mom. We are on I-95, should be home in 30 min or so. 

That was the last thing she remember. Then pain. She opened her eyes. The car was upside down. Her dad next her was unconscious. She turned her neck despite the shooting pains in her spine to look at wells in the back seat. He was unconscious, too. Well she hoped they were unconscious and not dead. She pulled her arm forward and unbuckled herself. Woozy at being upright, she took a moment before opening her door. 

Still disorientated, but determined Clarke walked around to the other side of the car, and somehow pulled her dad out of the car. He was bleeding a lot. Clarke pulled him away from the car. She had enough mental power at the moment to realize that those flames on the car weren’t good. She saw many movies that ended with cars on fire exploding. So she went back quickly for Wells. His arm was caught on something. She felt like crying. Fuck. 

He was caught on something sharp that was causing him to bleed all over her floral dress. The same dress Wells and Jake had teased her for wearing after a Hockey Tournament. She had said, fuck you guys, I look good. Now she was crying. 

Somehow. Someway she pulled him free and dragged him over to the tree she had laid her dad under. She started to go back to the back when the car exploded. She was going to look for her cell phone to call for help. The explosion knocked her unconscious. 

The details of the crash were well-contained the first couple of hours. All the world knew was there was a car accident involving Jake Griffin, his daughter, and the governor’s son. (Thelonious moved quickly up in politics.)

Then the pictures came out. Apparently, someone had taken high quality pictures of the event. They were some sicko who liked taking pictures of car crashes. Later investigations would show that he in fact caused the accident, too. That’s how he got all the pictures right away. He is in jail now.

But the pictures lived on. The blue car flipping. The blue car upside down. The blonde emerging from the wreckage in floral dress and gray sweater. Blood dripping from a cut on her forehead. A close-up of the cut and her eyes as she frowned. Her bare feet on the pavement as she pulled her father out of a wrecked car. The heartbreaking image of her tearfully pulling, pulling her dad across the road. Running back to the car. Dress whipping behind her. Hands with blood tugging, tugging on her friend in the backseat. Blood now covering the pretty dress. Blond hair in a mess. Blond and Blood. The beautiful blonde pulling the beautiful dark-skinned boy out of the wreckage. Putting him down near her father. The blonde looking determinedly at the car on fire with blood on dress. The explosion. The girl falling. Blood and Blonde. Floral and Fire. 

The images were absolutely stunning. The Sicko, who went by the screenname of Cage-Cerberus, saw them as his masterpiece. He posted them on the internet. He didn’t know the people in the car were anybody famous until the photos went viral. 

The world was enthralled at the image of this blonde princess saving her father and friend from a car. The news showed them non-stop. One was on the cover of Time magazine. Another on the front page of the New York Times. 

The hockey world was full of support for Jake Griffin and his family. Most all players tweeted something in support of them. 

Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook loved Clarke. They loved the images of the beautiful girl risking her life. They treated her like she was a movie character. But she wasn’t. They treated the images like they were movie stills. But they weren’t. The internet loved that they could easily find other pictures of her. Looking like a badass in her pink coat shooting the puck at her dad from an old Rangers special. The ones of her eating out of the Stanley Cup and the one with Wells on the pond rink they built when they were twelve were particularly popular. 

Clarke of course didn’t know of this all happening. She was in the hospital sitting with her mom waiting her news on her dad and best friend. She was fine, despite a concussion. Her dad was in surgery. Wells was out of surgery, but in a coma. 

Thelonious came in the waiting room. He had just been with Wells. His eyes were rimmed with red. The news couldn’t be good.

“He’s still asleep, but the doctor says you can come and see him. They don’t know if his arm will be okay or not yet.”

Clarke nodded at this and followed him down the stupidly white walls. Clarke hated white. All she has seen the past three days has been white. Or blood red. 

Wells looked like he had just fallen asleep on her couch after watching one too many avenger movies. That is if you ignored all the bandages on his right arm. And the stitches on his nose. 

Clarke didn’t cry. She hadn’t since the first day. She hadn’t when they told her that her dad would need more surgeries that would be risky after they had already stabilized him. She hadn’t cried when they told her that wells would probably not regain the full use of his arm. She hadn’t cried when the news crew got images of her leaving the hospital to go home and take a shower. 

She grabbed his hand, and started to tell him about the Rangers game from the night before, and the tribute they did before the game to Jake Griffin and his family. It was the closest thing to normal she could do, talking about hockey was normalcy in the worst possible situation. 

The internet loved the paparazzi photos that were taken of Clarke leaving the hospital like a stoic warrior and the ones of her returning in a different floral dress every day. She did it because she wanted her dad and friend to see something familiar when they woke up. The news just took it as another sign of how much of a princess she was. Always beautiful even in hardship.

Wells woke up. Jake did not. 

Clarke cried that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading this! I am actually pretty excited about this story. So please give me any or all feedback that you may have!


	2. Funeral and Tribute Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is probably worth saying that when I started writing this it was going to be a one shot, but I kind of got carried away. Hence, the some what awkward chapter divisions. So I'm sorry if the flow is kind of off.

Clarke went to the funeral in a floral dress. Despite Abby’s attempts to get her to change, Wells convinced her to let Clarke wear whatever she wanted. The internet loved the images of her beside the grave in a floral dress. Blonde and Burial. Floral and final goodbyes. Wells never let go her hand with his left hand not once. 

She received all the perfunctory condolences, and then proceeded to get fucking wasted with Wells and two of her close friends from the team, Monty and Jasper, in her old tree house. Wells didn’t drink though, it would have fucked with his pain meds. 

Clarke quit playing hockey when she found out that Wells would never play again. Though really she would have quit regardless, she missed her dad something awful. And she couldn’t think about hockey without thinking about her dad. And thinking about her dad hurt. Wells thought it was dumb that Clarke quit. He probably would have understand if she shared the missing her dad part, but she didn’t. So he thought she quit just in solidarity with him. He thought that was dumb because he would do anything to play hockey again, and she was able to play and she was just giving up.

They stopped talking. Clarke couldn’t talk to Wells because he just wanted to talk hockey. Wells couldn’t talk to Clarke because she still had the ability to play and wasn’t. He was jealous, but he couldn’t tell her that. So they stopped talking. 

Abby was worried about Clarke. Clarke was doing nothing all day. She would only be in her room. She had printed all those photos out and put them on her walls. Clarke knew Abby hated to see them, so Clarke put them up to keep Abby out. 

In early April, Abby told the Rangers that Clarke and Wells would do a ceremonial puck drop at the Rangers regular season home game. Clarke was going to fight her mom on it, but realized this could help her mom move on. Clarke wasn’t ready to move on, but she still loved her mom and wanted her mom to not hurt so much. 

So Clarke and Wells went to Madison Square Garden. Oh and Monty and Jasper came too. That was the one condition that Clarke had. They had never been to a NHL game before, but Clarke had basically gone to every home game for most of her life. She wore a floral dress and jean jacket.

They were met by some manager of some sort. She explained to the group that they would be in a box with some of the top prospects for this year’s draft. It was part of a promotional weekend the NHL Draft was throwing. They would be filming the prospects just having fun for a TV special to air before the draft. Clarke understood. She had been a part of many of things growing up. And honestly she got it from a publicity perspective. Clarke was like public relations gold, didn’t mean that she liked this though. Wells was worried about how Clarke would deal with the draft prospects. Clarke has sort let her filter go since her father’s death. Up until this point, Abby has kept her away from making any public statements because they were all afraid of how she might go off on whatever unlucky reporter would happen ask her a wrong question.

Monty and Jasper gave Clarke a reassuring hug before being ushered up to the box suite. Clarke and Wells were escorted by the manager, Clarke assumed she was some sort of Public Relations Manager by this point, to the locker rooms. Clarke knew a fair amount of the current Rangers and the coach. They all gave her big hugs and she made them promise to win it for her. 

They stopped by the visitors’ locker room, too. The Rangers were playing the Bruins. Both Teams had already sealed their playoff spots, so it would be s high energy game, but not brutal. Clarke knew some of the Bruins because she vacationed to a fairly hotspot for NHL players, her dad and a friend had run a training gym there for years. Honestly, Clarke knew players from most every team. She stepped in and was instantly wrapped up in a hug. 

“Hello to you too Tyler.” Clarke smiled. Wells hadn’t seen her smile like this in a while. 

“Princess, We’ve missed you!” Tyler said in her hair. Tyler Seguin had trained with her Dad last summer. He was the baby of the Bruins at nineteen. Clarke and Tyler had been friends. They even texted during the year a little. Although, Tyler got a bit caught up in his fame. 

Clarke then hugged Chara and Bergeron. They had all seen her at the funeral, but it was different now. 

Wells and Clarke chatted for a bit with the team. But Wells could see that the reminiscing was starting to weigh on Clarke. It was in her eyes. Her eyes always told how she really felt. He made up some reason for them to leave. She hugged him outside of the room 

“Thank you.” Wells just nodded at that. Clarke was still his best friend even if they weren’t really talking right now. The manager came over quickly and asked if they wanted to wear jerseys. Clarke looked down at her dress and looked back up, “I don’t wear hockey jerseys anymore.”

Wells could see the awkwardness start to settle on the poor manager’s face, and taking pity on her, he said, “I brought my own.” 

He pulled an old New York Rangers Jersey out of his backpack and met Clarke’s curious eyes. They hadn’t discussed jerseys. He assumed Clarke would wear a floral day dress like she always did nowadays, especially when she was missing her dad. Wells had on his own decided to take his the jersey he would wear to games when he would go to games with the Griffins. Wells hadn’t decided until that moment whether or not he would actually wear the jersey. 

Clarke saw the name and number on the back. Griffin 35. She wrapped her arms around Wells. He reciprocated. The jersey in his hands now squished between his arms and her back, which is when the manager saw the name. She sent an approving smile at Wells. 

“Wells, I’m so sorry. I’ve been shit to you.” Clarke said into his shoulder. Wells has been quickly getting taller than her, she noticed. Wells heard the growing tears in her voice and he rubbed her back to assure her it was okay.

“Clarke, it’s okay. We’re okay. We’ll talk later though, okay?” Clarke nodded, pulled away, and swiftly wiped a tear from her cheek. 

“Linda, is there time for me to freshen up?” Clarke asked the manager. Wells wasn’t aware Clarke even knew her name. He certainly didn’t. Clarke followed Linda to bathroom. Wells checked his phone.

From Jasper: YO WELLS THEY GOT FOOOOOOD UP HERE.  
GOOD FOOD.  
And there are like five cameramen. And like fifteen hockey players.  
Monty says hi and good luck.  
I say good luck too. SEE YA SOON. 

Wells texted back a quick:   
Save some food for us! Bit emotional down here. Might need comfort food. Should be interesting. 

Then it was time. Clarke had fixed her makeup, fluffed up her hair and practiced smiling into the mirror before heading back out to Linda and Wells.


	3. The Tribute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I am reading over this to post it, I am realizing I really fucked up POV and tense and such. I might go back and fix it some time. But not now. So sorry for that!

Madison Square Garden was full of cheering people. The way it should be, Clarke noted. The Anthem was sung. They introduced Clarke and Wells. Then they started a tribute video. Wells grabbed Clarke’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

They showed the best of Jake’s saves. They told a brief recap of his journey to the Rangers, his concussion, a little about Abby, a couple of pictures from their wedding with notable other players in the pictures. More saves. Jake doing his signature kiss to his wrist and raised his fist to the sky (he did it whenever he made a good save. He said he wore his heart on his sleeve and when he kissed it, it was like he was kissing Abby and Clarke for good luck). Him celebrating. Shootout saves. Him goofing off with teammates. Him holding up the Stanley Cup. Clarke running to greet her daddy on the ice, almost falling when Jake swooped him up and put her on his shoulders. He pulled Abby to his side and kissed her cheek. More saves. Game winning saves. That one time when he scored a goal. That was iconic. More saves. His signature wrist kiss. His last game. Them retiring his number, with Abby and Clarke in attendance. He did his signature wrist kiss/fist point to the sky then too, but on his new watch the Rangers organization gave him. It ended with a smiling picture of Jake holding Clarke on his hip after a game and Abby under his arm. 

It was beautiful. Most of the crowd was tearing up and cheering. Ranger fans loved Jake Griffin. All the players from both teams were giving a stick salute. Wells looked at Clarke who slowly closed her eyes and then opened them looking up at the crowd. She slowly raised her wrist and kissed the face of the watch with her hand in her fist. She pointed her arm, her fist to the heavens. It was a familiar motion to Wells. He had seen Jake do it a million times when Clarke was on the ice, and she would always do it back. It was their way of saying I love you. Wells hadn’t realized until that moment that Clarke had Jake’s watch now. Madison Square Garden had gone quiet.

Wells let go of her left hand and slowly raised his right wrist to his mouth and repeated the motion that Clarke had done. Soon everyone in MSG, even the players and coached kissed their wrist and pointed their fists to the sky. Clarke nodded her head and lowered her wrist. The cheering resumed immediately. Clarke let a small smile free and stepped forward to drop the puck. Wells had opted not to take part in this actual dropping of the puck. 

Clarke smiled at the two players who skated up to Clarke. She dropped the puck and smiled for the pictures. But all she wanted to do was go and cry in her room. She hugged the players. It was really just motions though. Her mind was already gone. She didn’t know she did the wrist kiss salute. It just happened. She just really wanted her dad back. She was supposed to be old, really fucking old when her dad died. From some old person disease. And she’d take her kids and family to the tribute game. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

She was off the ice now. She really didn’t even remember getting off the ice. Everyone was congratulating her, telling her that she did so well, and oh my god did you see their faces when Wells came out in Jake’s jersey and Clarke in her signature floral dress, we couldn’t have scripted this better, it’ll be all over the news, and the kiss on the wrist was perfect. Did you plan that? Clarke couldn’t even identify who was talking. She caught Wells’ eye and he looked as uncomfortable and overwhelmed as she did. 

She grabbed him and pulled him out of the crowd, shouted back, “WE NEED A FUCKING MOMENT!”

Wells snickered. That was the real Clarke. Some princess. Honestly, though Clarke grew up in locker rooms, of course she swears like sailor. They turned a corner and basically collapsed into each other.

“Well that sucked.” Wells started.

“No shit Sherlock.” Clarke retorted. 

They both fell apart from their hug and laughed and laughed and laughed. They hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. It was the combination of adrenaline and the fact that it was a long time coming that they were busting their sides laughing like a loon in a random hallway. 

“Thanks for doing this with me.” Clarke said sincerely, after they had composed themselves.

“Anytime, Princess.” Clarke smiled, the nickname meant so many different things. It used to be a joke purely because of Clarke’s hockey ancestry, then it became basically her name among NHL players because she was such a sweetheart as toddler, but she also kicked ass. It was what her teammates would call her as a joke because she played rough and tough. It was a term of endearment, but sometimes has a point of ridicule because of her privileged background. She thought it might hurt being called Princess after her dad’s death, but really no one said it in the same exact way as he had, so she was okay with it. Of course, she didn’t like this whole new Warrior Princess image the media came up with, but really she didn’t complain too much. Clarke was Princess and that was okay with her.

They walked back to the group that been in charge of the ceremony or tribute or whatever. Linda came over and hugged the two sixteen year olds. Who would have figured that Linda would end up the genuine one. “Let’s get you two up to the box to watch the game.”


	4. Meeting Bellamy Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Wells head up to the box suite and meet some of the draft prospects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never been in the box suites at Madison Square Garden, or any other venue with suites, so I kind of made it all up. Let me know if you have! I'd love to get some of the details right.

Wells has so grateful that Linda understood what they needed in this moment: to get to the box suite and watch the hockey game. 

Clarke had been in box suites before, but her family didn’t usually watch from them. They all preferred to be in with the crowd. Her dad always said that the fans are really a part of the game. Clarke believed that too. She had seen the Garden’s energy give energy to the players before. Fans will have your back. 

But they were seated in a box suite tonight. With Draft Prospects. And according to Jasper a bunch of cameramen. Oh joy. 

Linda didn’t seem to care about the introduction to the group inside; she looked down at her phone to check the room number. She put her hand on Wells’ shoulder, “Good luck in there. I had to take them to lunch earlier. They were not as easy as you two were. Have fun. And thanks again for coming. Here take my card. Call my cell, if you guys need anything.”

She gave Wells a little push towards the door and walked off down the hallway.

Clarke rolled her eyes, but tucked the card in jacket pocket. The pushy, yet kind woman left them to go enjoy the game.

They were barely in the room when Jasper flopped onto them. 

“Oh Clarkey. You are the best. Have I told you that yet today? And Wells, oh Wells. Your jersey. I love it. I love you guys.” Jasper hugged them tight. No one else had heard his words. Clarke gave a small little laugh. 

“Jesus Christ, Jas. We only left you for a little while.” That was loud enough for others to hear. She ruffled Jasper’s hair and that finally got his to let go as he ducked out of the way mumbled about messing up his epic flow. 

Monty was a few feet away and gave the two an apologetic smile. He knew better than anyone how much his best friend really was a drama queen. He pushed off the wall he was on and gave Clarke and Wells much shorter hugs. 

It was then that Wells really looked around the suite. The view of the ice was spectacular. He quickly glanced at the score, still tied at zero. There was a buffet table to the right of the room. It was full of lots of food he was sure to enjoy, but he was more interested in the Draft Prospects. Up until the accident, Wells was on the route to being drafted himself. Clarke and Wells had always followed the draft with Jake. They even went one year when it was in Pittsburgh as Abby’s guests. Wells was pretty positive that he would be able to identify some of the players in the room. 

Then a camera was in Clarke’s face, she stepped back with an unimpressed look on her face. Wells was about to step towards her, when someone else did. 

“Hi my name is Daniel Sterling, but everybody just calls me Sterling. I play for the Otters. Pleasure to meet you.” A somewhat unremarkable boy in regards to looks introduced himself to Clarke. Her lip twitched up in what would seem like an innocent smile, but her friends knew it was a mocking smile. 

“Likewise.” She shook his hand and walked around him to see the rink better. Sterling looked a little affronted. Wells hid a chuckle at the very Clarke-like avoidance of introducing herself. She knew they all knew who she was. And frankly, Clarke couldn’t be bothered to polite any more than minimally necessary today. 

Monty stood next to her watching the game. They noticed someone else approaching. Clarke rolled her eyes slightly, “I bet you fifteen dollars that this guy tells me to call him by his last name too. Like I’ve never been around hockey players before and don’t know that most all players go by their fucking last name.”

Monty figured she was right, actually knew she was right since he already met the player approaching, but took the bet anyways. It was good to see Clarke joking around.

“Hey Clarke, I’m Nathan Miller. But I go by Miller.” A tan boy who choose to wear a beanie with his shirt and tie said and then turned to watch the game with them. 

Clarke smiled genuinely this time. She liked this one. Yeah he did the last name thing, but Clarke knew that was probably more due to who his father was. A former Los Angeles King defensemen named David Miller. Plus he wore a beanie, which everyone in the room knew was a subtle “fuck you” to the forced formalities of the draft process. 

“You just won me fifteen bucks, Miller. I like you.” 

Miller turned and gave Clarke a big smile, but she was already watching the game again. She missed how much that statement meant to the hockey player. But Monty saw it. Sometimes he forgot how well-known and respected his blonde friend was in the hockey world even to a fellow hockey legacy like Miller.

While those three watched the game in relative silence (which definitely annoyed the cameramen who wanted a little more from the princess), Wells and Jasper were chatting with some of the other prospects. Wells himself was surprised about how many players he remembered the names of. More surprisingly was the one he didn’t remember at all. 

He had dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. He was watching the game a little bit off to the side by himself. Wells decided to introduce himself, he excused himself from his current conversation, and walked over to the last player in the room.

“Hi I’m Wells.” Clarke heard from behind her. She rolled her eyes; Wells really was a Politician’s son. She was about to focus her attention back on the game when she heard the reply. 

“I fucking know who you are.” Clarke’s eyebrows rose at the disdain in his voice. But she wasn’t going to get involved. She was here to watch the game. She was going to watch the game. Wells can handle himself. 

Wells saw one or two cameramen get closer and they had certainly gained the attention of the closer players around. He hoped Clarke didn’t hear. This was exactly the sort of thing that would set her off. “Oh that’s good. I don’t who you are though and I was hoping to find out.”

The boy snorted. “Why? Do you have a crush on me? I kind of figured you a thing going with the Princess over there.”

Oh Clarke definitely heard that, Wells thought, shit. 

Clarke spun on her foot. The sneer on her face would have been downright ugly on anyone else, but somehow she still looked beautiful. Her eyes were cold. So cold they seemed to freeze everyone in their spots as she looked across the room to see who had been speaking. There he was leaning on the wall with a challenge on his face. A challenge Clarke took easily. A challenge he would regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II should be up later tonight or tomorrow! Enjoy!


	5. Meeting Bellamy Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am becoming more and more aware of how unplanned and poorly written my fic is. While I love playing around with the premise in my head, it is not translating well into a story. I'd love to write a well thought out and good story, but I am just not sure I have the energy or time that this story would require to make it come out well. And most importantly, I want to enjoy the time I spend on this. So this is what I have so far. I have some introspection to do, and I may well be rewriting this from scratch. 
> 
> Enjoy this, I guess, though!

Clarke was more than ready to lay into this boy who dared to insult Wells.

She composed her face into the polite smile Wells knew all too well from too many formal functions with their parents. This was her game face. She glided across the room with absolute poise. She moved like a literal princess in those moments. She had the whole room’s attention on her, but acted like no one was watching. The only noise was from the cameramen who were shuffling about in hopes of getting the best possible angles. 

“Do we have a problem?” She started in a voice so taunting and innocent. It was a contradicting tone that only she could pull off. “I wasn’t aware we had a problem. Actually I wasn’t even aware you existed until you were an ass to my friend about forty second ago. So how is it that we have a problem?”

“Look, Princess. I don’t like you, I don’t like your so-called friend. Getting honored over your father’s death. Using our dead dad for fame. It’s shallow as fuck.” The boy said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“You utter piece of fucking pond scum. Fame is the goddamn furthest thing from my mind, you shitty puck fucker---“

“Right like that whole thing wasn’t scripted to a T. Ending with the …” He stood up straight and did the wrist salute mockingly. 

So Clarke decked him. She punched him straight in the cheek. He fell down. 

Wells reached for Clarke, but she shrugged him off. Her eyes dead set on the form laying on the ground in front of her. He looked back up at her. Wells could have sworn there was some amusement and maybe even respect mixed in with the fury in his eyes. 

Clarke crouched down and leaned with her elbows on her knees. The cameraman closest started to move forward and stopped with a quick glare from both Clarke and the boy on the floor. 

“I get that you don’t like me. You don’t have to. I certainly don’t like you. But you will never disrespect my dad again. Today wasn’t scripted, asshole. I wouldn’t be here if it was. I don’t want to be here even as it is. But I respect my father, I respect the Rangers, I respect the Rangers fans, and I respect hockey. I suggest you start to do the same yourself if you hope to be drafted.” Clarke was cold to him, but her voice had a finality in it that the boy could hear. “Now, I am going to help you up. You are going to introduce yourself to Wells, and you are going to leave me alone while I watch the rest of the game, got it?”

The boy accepted her outreached arm, and stood up. “Got it, Princess.”

She rolled her eyes, walked back to Monty and gave the boy a look. She was clearly waiting for him to introduce himself to Wells.

“The name is Bellamy, Bellamy Blake.” He said to Wells while rubbing his cheek, turning back to the Princess with an are-you-happy-now look. She smiled almost playfully before returning her attention to the game. Wells decided to take that as his cue. 

“Nice to meet you, Blake. Let’s get you some ice for that.” He motioned at Bellamy’s cheek. Bellamy started to smile at this kid who he was an asshole to that was now helping him, but stopped the smile when it caused pain to shoot up his cheek. 

Since the drama ended, the conversations hadn’t quite gotten back up to the volume of before. But then the Garden exploded in noise. The Rangers has scored. And the box suite settled back into a comfortable state. Wells and Bellamy were getting ice from the buffet where Jasper was restocking his plate with brownies. 

“Hey, Jasper. Bring this ice over to Clarke for her fist, okay?” Wells put some ice in a plastic bag the catering had gotten from somewhere. Jasper nodded and walked off. Bellamy must have had a questioning look on his face because Wells started to explain, “She punched you fucking hard, and her fist is probably hurting like a bitch, but she won’t get over her pride to ask for ice.”

Bellamy looked over just in time to see her shooting an appreciative smile at Jasper.

“Brave Princess.” Bellamy muttered. Whoops, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But Wells just chuckled. 

“You have no clue, bud.”   
Bellamy was so thrown about how wrong his interpretation of Wells and Clarke had been. “So I am going to say it’s safe to say you guys aren’t dating.”

“Why? Do you have a crush on her?” Wells teased Bellamy with his words from before. Bellamy rolled his eyes. “But nah, she’s my sister in every way except for by blood.”

The two hadn’t realized a camera was still on them. But honestly they didn’t care. Bellamy and Wells ended up watching the rest of the game together. They had surprisingly a lot in common. And very similar taste in humor. Another player who went by Murphy, but Wells remembered from his stats that his first name was John, joined them during the third period. He didn’t add much to the conversation besides well-timed sarcastic comments. 

The Rangers ended up winning 3-2. Clarke was happy about that, but she was happier that the game was over. She was emotionally tired, physically tired and her hand hurt a motherfucking lot. She was checked her texts when Wells, Bellamy and Murphy joined Miller, Monty, Jasper and herself in the corner that they commandeered for most of the game. 

“Clarke,” Wells started hesitantly, shit. Clarke knew she wasn’t going to like where this was going based on his tone, but she didn’t look up from the text she was sending. “I was thinking that some of the guys might want to join us for a little after game celebration in the apartment.”

That made Clarke look up. “What?” She said incredulously.

“C’mon Clarkey! It’ll be fun! You said just five minutes ago that you were ready to wasted.” Jasper piped up. Well that’s not fair. 

“I meant with friends.”

“Clarke.” Wells gave her a look, “if they don’t come with us, they get to go to another Draft Prospect mingler in the hotel. You know how fun those are.”

“Please, Clarke. Save us.” Miller was giving her puppy dog eyes. Okay. Clarke was seventy five percent sure this was discussed before they approached her with the idea. They had to have planned this. Murphy and even Bellamy joined in with the puppy dog eyes. One hundred percent sure now.

“Fuck it. They can come.”

“You are as weak as ever to puppy dog eyes, Clarke.” Monty snickering slightly.

“Monty! You were in on this too! I should have known.” Clarke puts her face in hands, and he puts his arm around her. 

“C’mon, Princess. Back to the castle we go!” Monty pulled her to the door. The boys chuckled as Clarke groaned.

“All of you can go to hell!” She called back to them as left the box suite.

**Author's Note:**

> So I sort of fudge dates and timelines to make this work. Also obviously Jake Griffin is a made up character so his career is also made up. I know nothing about owning a hockey franchise, so that stuff is all made up too.


End file.
